


fools

by latenightcoffee



Category: SLBP - Fandom, 天下統一恋の乱 | Sakura Amidst Chaos | Samurai Love Ballad (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Fluff, That's literally all this is, is it an au if it's slbp canon tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 15:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffee/pseuds/latenightcoffee
Summary: There's things about Nobunaga not even centuries can change, like his convoluted, frustrating version of kindness, but tonight you're just too tired to deal with it.





	fools

You sound tired on the phone –in the half a second it takes you to recognize his voice, since you never do check who’s calling before picking up– it’s the first thing he notices because it makes him wonder if he comes across the same. Saburou has spent most of the month overseas, which has been a hell of an eye opener when it comes to missing you; here in this second lifetime of loving you, every day apart feels like you’ll disappear. Like he’ll wake up in a hotel he can’t remember the name of, alone with his career and his politics and his moods; the way he was until you found him in that observation deck.

The thought is an anxious prickle under his skin, it has been for the entire year since then, but this is the longest trip he’s taken without you; and he’s realized the most exhausting part of it all has been constantly longing for you.

  
“It’s just been a busy morning,” you say when he mentions your lack of enthusiasm, “a couple picky costumers and a late delivery…”

There’s the sudden crash of plates somewhere behind you, cutting off your explanation and pulling you away to take care of this new emergency.

All Saburou can do is cling to the sigh you leave with him, a close, dear sound; an auditory memory of lazy mornings with you and the ease with which you just mold to him, as if the centuries between Oda Nobunaga and Oda Saburou don’t exist.

  
His plane leaves not long after at least, and he can stop pacing this weird damn airport where they don’t let him up any higher than this ‘premium lounge’ with no view since apparently the sun doesn’t rise until well past 5 am here, as has been explained to him at least twice.

Forgive him for wanting at least a little direct sunlight before he wastes away his entire fucking day in a plane.

His only stroke of luck is clear, 1 am streets; and of course, finding your shoes at the entrance of his penthouse when he finally drags himself and his suitcase in.

You stand at the stove –he can smell stew, and it makes his stomach grumble– groaning softly as you roll your neck, then your ankles –once, twice, each in time. You _look_ tired too, leaning pretty much all your weight against the cabinet behind you, seemingly enough to not have noticed him walking in.

Saburou’s face scrunches up, he wasn’t expecting you here, not so late; especially when you have to get up at least an hour earlier in the mornings to make it into work whenever you stay over. He calls out your name and tries not to chuckle at how you flinch half out of your skin; your mumble of welcome comes through a yawn but you can’t keep the smile off your face. He knows if you stay he’ll have you up at least another hour or two, with talking or sex or both, he can’t help himself, so he doesn’t come any closer than the doorway.

  
“It’s late,” his tone is blessedly level even if his chest aches at having you so close, “go home.”

You know this, you’ve known this for ages. He can see understanding in your clever eyes, always a step ahead of him no matter how emotionally constipated he’s always been. You know what he means is that you don’t need to be here making him food, you need to go home to rest and…

He sees the sheen of tears forming in real time before the first drop rolls silently down your cheek. You rush to turn off the stove, maneuvering around him to reach the entrance and his heart kicks into double time. He can clearly hear the deep, controlled breaths that betray the quiet crying you do around him. Back then and now, and if you live another thousand years, there’s not a goddamn thing in the world that makes him feel as guilty.

It’s luck, or good reflexes –maybe the universe throwing yet more chances at his stupid, _stupid_ feet– that lets him catch your arm before you walk out the door.

You could shove him off, you ask him to let go of you and it’d be all it would take. But you, lovely, foolish you, wait while he swallows his pride and wraps his arms slowly around you like he’s testing the waters.

  
“I’m not here because I feel obligated, Nobunaga,” your voice is low but steady, only barely cracking around the edges.

You don’t push him away, even if you’re angry enough to use his old name, you just let him hold you for a minute before you finally nuzzle your face into his chest and he can breathe again.

“I’m here because I want to be here, and I don’t know why you keep pretending I’m here by force.”

“I forget,” he mutters into your hair, immediate and mostly unaware of how honest he’s being “it’s been far too long.”

You laugh, catching a little in your throat and he feels you nod against the fabric of his shirt; this time the sobs make your shoulders shake so hard you probably couldn’t hide them if you tried. Your arms come up around his waist at last and it dawns on him that you must be as terrified of this being all a dream as he is.

He lets you cry, rubbing a clumsy hand over your back, the ring he couldn’t keep himself from buying as he wandered around a strange city –one of those nights when you seemed so far away that he was half convinced he had made you up– suddenly iron heavy in his pocket.

  
“I’m sorry.”

It’s heartfelt and almost inaudible for it but you nod again, stepping back with his hand in yours and let him cajole you into having supper with him. Your stew is as good as ever, better still because your smile returns gradually as you eat.

You start grilling him on all the things he saw overseas as soon as your good mood returns, and he tells you about everything but the ring. This he’s done before and he wants to discover if your surprise at finding it around your finger in the morning will be the same as it was all those years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> so i'm not too familiar with this fandom here on ao3 so hi! i'm a little nervous but i hope this is enjoyable and fluffy


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